Wavering hope
by Theia Pallas
Summary: Harry had enough of his friends and ran off to the forbidden forest. Will who he meets there help him with his problems?


He has had enough of his two friends. They had always been there for him, that is, until he told them about the prophecy. After that day, they have been avoiding him as much as they could, being completely obvious, and after being ignored for the whole summer, Harry had enough. He needed to find a release for all this stress if he was to keep up the 'golden-boy' act. He didn't want to accidentally hurt one of his _best friends_ with a potentially dark spell. He had always had an inclination to dark spells.

Sneaking out had been easy with his invisible cloak and the marauders map, he needed time for himself. It was Saturday the next day so his so-called friends wouldn't bother him till noon so he had time. Time that he would use to just relax and to escape from reality and truly be himself.

He had calmed down after nearly destroying all the trees within a 10 metre radius around him and started to relax when he heard the sounds of footsteps and the quiet swishes of a moving cloak. Without thinking, Harry's body tensed and instinctively drew out his wand, ready to fire a spell at the slightest of movements or sound. Staying quiet, he notices the footsteps steadily getting louder, hoping that whoever it was wasn't looking for him, that they would not notice the amount of destruction that he had cause the past hour. ….Who was he kidding; the person coming obviously heard all the noise and is coming to investigate.

Harry had nearly made it out of the human-made clearing when the sounds of footsteps stopped. Knowing that he had been seen, he swiftly turned around to face his onlooker. 'Why am I not surprised…,' Harry wondered. "How nice to see you wondering around in the forbidden forest so late at night Voldemort, or should I call you Tom?"

The dark lord sneered at the boy in front of him, "It doesn't matter what you call me, you would not escape to tell the tale I'm sure." A lazy smirk," after all, you would be dying right here as none of your friends are here to help or to sacrifice themselves for you. _**Diffindo**_"

Dodging the spell that headed towards him, Harry raised a shield to, at the very least, slow down come of the spells being shot at him. He sent his own spells back at his opponent, not even thinking of what he was doing. 'How could I get away… Why must fate be so mean to me! All I wanted to do was relax but look what happened.' Not paying attention to his surrounding, Harry fell over the demolished truck of what used to be a tree, slamming his leg into the branches of said tree. Harry tried to get back up, but his body collapsed under the damage done to his leg. 'Damn it!'

"What do we have here? It seems you're not going to go anywhere. What should I do… kill you now or make the boy-who-lived become my slave… so many choi-"

"Don't call me that! I hate that name!" Harry interrupted, yelling out his thoughts.

"My my, It seems little Potter hates the name that the wizarding world gave him. Whatever should I do…? Where are your little friends, Potter? Hoping that giving yourself to me would save them? That won't happen, so tell me why you are away from your friends, I was under the belief that they would never leave your side."

Scoffing at the thought of his 'friends', he ignored Voldemort's comment choosing to heal his injured leg, well attempting to anyways. He had never really practiced healing magic.

Growling at the sight of his nemesis ignoring his attempts of angering him, Voldemort shot a crucio at the boy, causing him to scream in pain. ~Sssstop~ Harry hissed, unaware that he was speaking in parseltoungue.

Hearing the other speak the language of serpents had made Voldemort stop his spell, having frozen at the change of language. 'How is it possible that the boy-who-lived could speak in a language only the descendents of Slytherin could know? What could have possibly allowed such a skill to have landed on someone who is unworthy of the Slytherin name… unless… unlikely but not impossible.'

Slowly walking towards the fifteen year old, he reached towards that scar that marked the boy as his. Upon touching the scar, he had no doubts that his thoughts were right. ~You are mine, ~ Voldemort hissed. ~How I was wrong. I ssshould have never tried to kill you, my sssoul…~

Harry was frozen. What did he mean he was his, that he was his soul. Suddenly, it hit him, everything made sense. Why he was targeted every year at school, why Dumbledore had never done anything to help him, making him solve the problem on his own, why he always kept things from him. He wanted Harry to die; he had always planned on killing him, sacrificing him for the _greater good_.

Harry was shaken from his thoughts when Voldemort kneeled down in front of him, picking up his yew wand, and holding it to his injured leg. "Wh-what are you doing? Let go of me!" Harry tried to tug his leg out of the other's grip.

"Shut up and stop moving. You'll only make your leg worse," Voldemort griped, keeping his hold on the other's leg. He waved his wand over the injured leg, the wound healing within seconds. "There. You shouldn't have any problems with that now." He looked up to face the boy. "What are you going to do now, you going to try and kill yourself knowing that you're part of me or run back to your headmaster pretending that this didn't happen?"

After gathering his thoughts for a few moments, Harry lifted his head so that red and green met. "I always knew that Dumbledore was keeping something from me but I never knew that he planned on having me killed. I _hate_ him!" Harry ranted to his enemy.

"I trusted him and all he did was keep the most important things away from me. He placed me where I was abused and hated for being who I was and he put my godfather in jail without even trying to get him out-," Harry choked on his words, his eyes spilling tears that he kept hidden for more than ten years. "H-he n-never really c-cared for me, d-did he…?" Harry burst into tears, not caring that he was crying in front of someone who would probably have killed him not ten minutes ago.

Seeing his ex-enemy weeping made Voldemort stiffen; he never had to deal with someone crying. He was usually the one who had caused the tears. Without knowing it, he had pulled the crying boy into his arms and started patting his hair, whispering calming words to the youth. Even when his mind caught up to his actions, he continued with what he was doing. It seemed right that the boy was in his arms; he felt at peace.

"You don't have to return to the light. I could bring you with me if you wish. No one will harm you and I will never keep anything from you. Would you like to come with me, Harry?" Voldemort asked as the sobbing died, the name having easily slipped from his mouth. At the slight nod, he stood up with the bundle in his arms and apparated to his manor with his new partner.


End file.
